


Life Among The Dead

by AngelicEclair



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 09:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20112559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicEclair/pseuds/AngelicEclair
Summary: The Reader is new to The Sanctuary's way of life. Some may call her uneasiness and constant daydreaming to be "laziness", "weakness", or "ditzyness", but Negan can see she is a valuable asset in ways other than being nothing more than walker-splitting brass.





	Life Among The Dead

**Author's Note:**

> I know just about everything that could be written about Negan has already been written long ago and with much more grace and intrigue than my own, but I just had to try my hand at writing his dialogue!

(Y/N) floated away into her thoughts like a lily pad gliding across a pool as she meandered along a path lined with sun-ripened berries.

"Same shit, different day," a man griped as the heavy swing of his cleaver sliced a corpse's head clean in half like a pomegranate.

The walker had brought along four friends, mouths gnashing and gaping for still-living flesh, but the man and his group cut down the remaining walkers like they were nothing more than unruly weeds.

(Y/N) had helped all she could on the mission, gathering berries and scavenging other edibles and after seeing slobbering reanimated bodies dodder towards her from all directions, she needed a moment to decompress. It didn't get easier to deal as the days crawled on. Not at all.

Word traveled fast around The Sanctuary, and opinions formed even quicker. If her wandering off to a secluded area to breathe was being a "slacker" than she was most definitely one.

One of the men started to hobble over to (Y/N)'s secluded spot, where she tried to focus solely on her breathing before the leader cuffed him on the shoulder.

"Oh, hell, don't bother," said the man stridently.

"She needs to snap out of it. We ain't out here pickin' daisies."

"She's gonna be pushin' daisies before too long."

(Y/N) scribbled her thoughts down quickly before tucking the leather-bound notebook under her thigh for safeguarding and opting to read something instead. It didn't garner the embarrassing flurry of questions or suspicion that she was jotting down some grand, wicked scheme to overthrow Negan himself and the less attention she drew to herself, the better.

The sun was lower, burning gold through the trees and casting her still shadow on the ground. She tried to breathe deeply - the air was musty with far-off bonfires and sharp with the edge of a twilight chill. (Y/N) was growing sleepy and her head hurt as she sat amidst the foundation of a building. In the distance, she imagined flourishing gardens and orchards of sweet apples; wintersweet and moss roses growing where uses used to be.

Shifting her eyes, she could see a dead tree, split in two by lightning. A blackbird hopped clumsily to the ends of a branch, which bobbed under its weight and sent it squawking into the air with a battery of flaps. It sailed out of view, beyond the fences, just where (Y/N) wished she could roam.

She supposed she was depressed, wrought with it now that the novelty of it all had worn off, the wildly alien characters of the place in which she found herself: The Sanctuary - a strange land with strange customs and peoples and unpredictable weathers.

The hopelessness had brought along sleeplessness along too. Nothing was lonelier or more disorienting than insomnia. She spent the nights reading or writing until at least four in the morning until her eyes stung. When words were beginning to look like that of bird footprints on the sand, she would look at picture encyclopedias where she would stare at animals and plants she hadn't seen in forever.

The heavy steps of her group faded and left nothing but the sound of rainbirds calling and crickets chirping in their wake.

As (Y/N) continued to write and brood against the fence, she felt eyes on her and tuned into the world around her without looking up.

She was confused by the sudden glaring heat of attention and a deep crooning that unmistakably belonged to Negan.

It was if a character in a story or painting, absorbed in their own concerns, had stepped out like hallucination, a figment of the imagination as heedless as a ghost.

Dazed, she shook her head and inched up in place.

_"Lord, I was born a ramblin' man,_

_Tryin' to make a livin' and doin' the best I can._

_And when it's time for leavin',_

_I hope you'll understand,_

_That I was born a ramblin' man."_

(Y/N) guessed he had finally tired of his taunting rendition of Bad Moon Rising for the time being.

Negan began to hum which turned into a whistle that seemed to fade into the surrounding birdsong along with his footsteps as (Y/N) forced herself to engross herself in the book, even if it meant reading the same two lines over and over again.

Negan leaned over her shoulder and inspected the page making her jump.

"Hmm, Nineteen Eighty-Four," he said. "Pretty bleak stuff." He brought his head back up to scrutinize me. The dying light was at an angle that glinted off his nearly-black eyes showing the hidden marigold glimmer in their depths. "Very interesting." He mused fondly, almost to himself. "Were you studying anything before the world fell all to shit?"

She knew all the idle chat was going to lead up to shouts about her "slacking" or proposed ditziness.

"Yes, sir. I was studying (preferred field)."

"Nice to have someone around that has more than a half of a brain cell to go on. What's your name?"

(Y/N) panicked. She felt it much easier to create herself and cultivate fake details rather than divulge her real past. It helped her feel safe, disconnected.

"I'm…(Fake Name). It's nice to finally meet you Negan."

The rosy twilight made even the most vulgar things tolerable, even the illustrious Negan. Or…perhaps it wasn't the lighting at all. Had he always been so handsome or was her feeble mind finally beginning to slip?

He squatted down in front of her, his dark eyes unmoving and tapped the book. "You like Orwell?"

(Y/N) felt it would be a mistake to say anything contrary.

"I like Orwell," she answered weakly before she closed the book and hugged it close. If her hands were unoccupied, he would be able to see them shaking.

"You ever read Animal Farm?"

A bit caught off guard at the simplicity of the question, (Y/N) gulped. There had to be something more profound to his words. This wasn't a book club.

"I think that was one of the choices for my summer reading during back in high school, but I chose something else instead."

He simply hummed in acknowledgment.

"Well, long story short – there's an uprising on the farm. The pigs on the farm become more and more like human beings - walking upright, carrying whips, and even wearing clothes. Eventually, their seven key principles written on the barn become reduced to a to "_all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others_."

He paused and scanned (Y/N) 's face. He looked so friendly, but (Y/N) knew it had to be deceitful; spider-like. The Devil seemed to have a new disguise, and it was instantly enthralling her, just what she expected out of a demon.

"The pigs, unlike other animals, live the good life and reap the benefits of the society they help to control. Change is usually at the expense of the weaker ones. The whole damn book is an allegory for human nature and our inability to truly be equal. And I say if you quack like a duck, you're a duck and some of these limp-dick airheads drag around like they're already dead. They moan and groan like a walker. What's to say they aren't already one?"

Was Negan implying that some people deserved more privileges than others?

"You can't have a revolution unless you make it for yourself; there is no such thing as a benevolent dictatorship, so I'm gonna keep things my way until hell's bells toll for me, kiddo. Sorry if you have any gripes with that."

His faint grin grew into a toothy smile. Despite it being akin to that of an old Hollywood movie star's, it unnerved her.

He cupped her on the shoulder, almost playfully.

"Just warning you since your new here and seem to be the dainty type and little birds have told me you aren't pulling your own weight just yet. Things are going to be real hard on you. I just hope you understand it's nothing personal. It's just the way things have to be."

(Y/N) was trying to think an appropriate response when he looked away and stood.

Before walking off, a look bounced between them. Blinking seemed to reverberate with all the ringing discord of gunshots.

"Why don't you pop by my quarters tomorrow afternoon. We'll continue our little chat there. We'll drum up a way you can help."

That night, (Y/N) eyes didn't shut once, and the next day was as slow as molasses until the afternoon came.

The bottle of alcohol and twin shot glasses glinted in the drowsy autumn sun, casting white shapes across the table.

It was a beautiful, well-appointed room with a dark mahogany four-poster bed, a gilt mirror, and what appeared to be a small bar.

Negan poured a shot of golden whiskey into a glass. At that moment, Negan's eyes were kind and frank. "Drink?"

(Y/N) politely declined. She needed her wits about her now more than ever.

"A little birdy told me you're from California."

"Yes, I am," She lied, somewhat startled. Who had told him that?

"I don't know many people from the west," he said. "I don't know if I would like it there. I sure as shit wouldn't like it now." He paused, looking pensive and vaguely troubled but only for a fraction of a second. "So, (Fake Name),"

His bit out her name strangely, as if it tasted funny. As if he could tell that it was fake.

"What did you do in The Golden State?"

She gave him the usual spiel, the backstory she had painted for herself - swaying orange groves, honeysuckle, failed movie stars, lamplit cocktail hours by the swimming pool, cigarettes, ennui.

She spoke highly of the inflamed synesthesia of past summers, fruit juice, floral secretions on the soles of her feet as she ran through the freshly sprinkled lawn. About the little bluebell and daffodil beds, her wanderlust culminating under the tremendous summer moon as every synapse burst and died like a firefly or a moonbeam in the tide.

He listened intently, his eyes fixed on hers, apparently entranced by the fraudulent recollections.

Or was he?

Never had her words, though soft and jumbled, been met with such attentiveness, such keen solicitude, or so she foolishly thought. He seemed so utterly enthralled that she was tempted to embroider a little more than perhaps was prudent.

Was it because she so desperately wanted his approval?

Negan shifted forward in the leather armchair.

"No shit," he chuckled. "How'd you end up here with us?"

Then it was back to being like the most uncomfortable interview she had ever attended.

"I don't really remember..."

He moved on, at least for the time being. He so skillfully engaged (Y/N) that she fell disarmed. He led her deftly from topic to topic and managed to extract everything else about her he wanted to know.

(Y/N) was lulled into thinking rapt interest might spring from anything less than the very richest enjoyment of her own company, nothing more and nothing less.

Soon, she found herself talking with relish on a bewildering variety of topics—some of them quite personal, with more frankness than was customary—having been convinced that she was acting of her own volition. Little did she know, she had been welcomed into the spider's parlor.

The godly timbre of his voice was making her timid, even more so when it dropped to a whisper.

"Between you and me, I really ain't one for talking to all these swinging dicks who think they have mammoth-sized clackers. All that's mind-numbing and tedious. It's a refreshing splash to have someone a bit more subdued. But- "

(Y/N) immediately braced herself.

"-you are a fragile thing, and I can tell just by looking at you …you're afraid of those things. Not only walkers, people too.

She found herself inexplicably charmed his conversation, despite it being rather digressive. Looking back, (Y/N) could see that he was leading her by circumlocution to the same points, again and again, seeing if her ideas or memories would slip.

Despite assuming him to be nothing more than brass, his mind was whimsical and discursive, but also unhesitating and relentless. It was not a standard quality of intelligence that one frequently encounters these days.

"Don't worry about being afraid of getting your hands dirty too much. We have enough muscle. We're damn capable of marching on any town and taking it over by yourselves."

Negan laughed.

"We could do it this afternoon, me and maybe six other men," he said confidently.

(Y/N) felt an unexpected thrill at the coldness of his voice. It didn't at all match his smile.

He imagined fondly for a moment before his voice crept to a whisper again.

"But we don't have many of your kind."

After contemplating what that could mean other than "unhelpful at best," (Y/N) met Negan's eyes and he leaned closer still.

"Do you remember any of what happened to your family?"

It was just another question in attempts to unravel her self-skewed past. Before becoming the leader of The Sanctuary, had he been a police officer? He certainly knew his way around an interrogation.

Negan threw back a shot of cinnamon whiskey and waited patiently.

"I...I remember a little." (Y/N) said.

Negan's smile was deceptively gentle.

"I know when you lie to me, and I know you aren't from where you said you were. Your town was like a fart in the wind. Poof. Right?"

(Y/N) stared down at her feet and felt fresh panic wash over her entire body.

"I also know that's not your real name. So, be a peach and tell me what it is and if you think I'm gonna ask again, you've got another thing fuckin' comin'."

(Y/N) hazarded a look up at the man before her before pulling in a shaky breath and savoring it for a moment, as if it would be her very last.

_"(Y/N)."_

"(Y/N), huh," he drawled back, letting your name get comfortable on his tongue. "That's even prettier than the bullshit you told me before." He said without malice.

Satisfied, he dismissed her, but (Y/N) found herself not wanting to leave.

She hesitated, standing up from her seat.

His presence made sparks leap from her bloodstream. He was dangerous, and it invigorated her and the writing she did when she returned to her own quarters that night.

In her past life, before the fall of humanity, (Y/N) was a writer of all sort, even the shunned variety. She found beauty in writing romance and erotic ventures, especially at the present moment. It enlivened the drabness and softened the grotesque. Her words were unusually bountiful now that she had a brand new muse.

Negan knew precisely what he was doing; (Y/N) did too, much to her dismay. She knew with every ghostly, nearly there or barely there-touch, every smirk across the factory floor, he was manipulating her, coaxing her out of her hiding. He was daring her to beg for him in the way his dark eyes promised she would. All in due time.

She was a swift learner and becoming accustomed to all his tricks. By all rights, she should have been nauseated by him - the multiplied wives, the way he commanded so violently, the stranglehold he kept on local communities.

But, nevertheless, she incorporated them into her erotic writing often, so much so, she was beginning to become paranoid of someone snooping in her notebook and finding out her dirty secret.

It felt more than a dirty secret, it felt like a betrayal to the little humanity she had left.

When it went missing one morning, (Y/N) felt her cheeks flare and she prayed to every god that she had just lost it on an outing and it had been ruined and rendered unrecognizable by the elements.

Her restless soul knew of only one other place to get her thoughts out, so she stood outside his bedroom door, just as purple dusk was settling.

Her heart felt like bird flailing pointlessly in the grip of a hungry cat when he emerged from his room.

Her breath got stuck in her wind piped, and she gulped. Her pride was more than a mouthful to swallow. "N-Negan," She started, forcing her fisted hands down to her sides.

Despite having gone to the door of his quarters, she felt shocked to see him. "I was hoping we could talk again."

With a look of bogus surprise, a hand pressed to his chest. "Well fuck me sideways; (Y/N) just popped up without being called."

She laughed along tensely before a large hand grasped her wrist.

"C'mon baby, you know I'm only teasin' you. Get your ass in here."

_'Baby'?_

Negan sure seemed to be outrageously comfortable with her.

(Y/N) thought she would grind her teeth to dust.

Trying to cease her quaking, she stepped through, into the metaphorical belly of the beast.

"I'm glad you dropped by. I found a book you may be interested in."

(Y/N) perked up. Negan had picked her up a book he found on his last outing?

Her new smile faded, and cold dread prickled the back of her neck when he pulled the leather-bound notebook from behind his back and flipped open to a page his thumb had been marking.

"_'And in his eyes, he had the look of some who knows he inspires a desire to caress but chooses to love no one."Goddamn, that feels fan-fucking-tastic. Got me all soaked." The man laughed, knowing how much I loved hearing his deep voice while he fucked me. The cold, rigid leather of his jacket and gloves sent thrills into my core._'"

He read dramatically, making sure to jolt emphasis into the foulest of words. Her writing was terribly cliche, but coming from his mouth, (Y/N) felt like she would overheat. Like a nuclear meltdown was impending.

"C'mon, it's me right down to the buttons."

"No, sir. It's not. Honestly, I-"

He repeatedly tapped at the blank space where the man in the story's name should be. She had nearly torn a hole in the page erasing what was there previously, but Negan could make out the faint scrawl of his name.

"Then why are you here? Just to lounge in my armchair and chat about nothing? Baby, I don't know if I look stupid to you, but I do know that's not why you're here."

(Y/N) gulped audibly, stupidly, ineptly. There he went calling her 'baby' again. Was it an unfortunate habit or something more?

"Now tell me, do you write these things to make yourself all hot?"

At first, (Y/N) stared at Negan in a wide-eyed stupor, wondering if she had heard him correctly. Seeing his smile remain unwavering, she looked away in shame, and Negan leaned forward and pinched her cheek.

"Mm... I know."

The way he excitedly hissed "know" made her knees buckle. She took a seat before she fell down.

The man could talk a nun right out of her panties. And he knew it. Just the bass of his voice was enough.

He pulled back and regarded her smugly, and his voice became loud and commanding again as if he were addressing his men.

"Tell you what we're gonna do. Even though you're a little slackjack who runs off to write about her leader and fingerbang herself, I'm going to cut you a deal."

So this was the "bad moon a-rising" from the song he so frequently purred. Trouble was most certainly on the way; all earthquakes and lightning.

"If you stay by me, I'll keep you safe, keep you well-fed, keep you out of trouble, keep you all smiles... and you can have my thick cock anytime you need it,"

(Y/N)'s blood ran colder than when she unexpectantly ran into a walker. This had to be some sick joke since she was somewhat new to The Sanctuary - an initiation of sorts. A way to put her in her place.

"Just gotta say the word, 'cause if you don't, how else am I gonna make that ache stop?"

Ache? No one ever said a thing about an ache.

His tone was patronizing as he took a seat across from her. He dipped forward, and his warm hand found (Y/N)'s knee and gave it a possessive squeeze. "It's not like we're going to be caught with our pants down. No one comes in here but me and if they did, they'd be a sore, sore, shit-out-of-luck son of a bitch."

He motioned towards the bat propped up against the wall in his room, unobscured and standing alone as if it were a piece of furniture.

"That there is my Lucille. My dirty girl loves bashing in bad guy's brains. It gets her all wet."

(Y/N) quivered grimly at the gross implication, but also at how perverted his speech could be.

"Sir...I can't do this. It's so wrong and..."

'I don't want him. I don't want him. I don't want him.' She upheld like a consecrated intonation in her mind. 'He's testing me. It's all a cruel joke. He doesn't know. He's just yanking my chain.'

He paused at that, drawing back to unbuckle his belt, clicking his tongue.

"Will you just let me show you your end of the deal?"

(Y/N) nodded and clamped her legs together.

He snickered at her pitiful reaction. He watched wolfishly as her eyes fell to his zipper as it came undone. They went wide as he pulled free his long, sinfully thick cock. 

The lust that was steeping under her skin was now in a rolling boil; his musk unabashed and delicious, his confidence and authority unquestionable. It was far too heady a combination. She was dumbstruck, a little slack-jawed as her eyes darted from his face back to his sex, nervously. She probably looked like a hungry walker to him.

Negan tilted his head, smirking lasciviously as he languidly stroked his cock.

When (Y/N) had come in, the air went out. Everyone else would have filled up with doubt, but Negan was as triumphant and as proud as a dog barking at the moon. He knew he was going to do bad, bad things to her before the night was through. He trusted the skills he had honed over his time.

He was also boastful of his "virtue." In his eyes, he wasn't weak nor licentious, but (Y/N)'s innocent siren song was so pure and sweet, it had drawn him in like the tide. He was just a man, after all. However, he wasn't going to bend to her will or chase her like a "pathetic milksop."

It was either be his or make up her own pyre and lie in it. (Y/N) knew she could never work hard enough for him, for The Sanctuary. She was the "dainty" type, after all.

How could he be hard? It was like he was getting off on her internal struggle by itself.

His cock twitched.

"You scared of me, babydoll? You can't seem to manage a word, and when you do, you trip all over yourself and can't even bear to look me in the eye. Just say 'yes' and I'm all yours."

Her eyes were growing misty, promising tears. Never in her life had she been so flustered. She felt like she was a fly under a microscope, and Negan had plucked her wings off and was finding amusement at her struggle. "Um..."

"You know you ain't gettin' shit 'til you nut up and ask me... so use your words, and you'll get what you need."

"Yes...yes! I need you so bad..."

"There you go. See, what I'm trying to get you to figure out is that you can't get what you want unless you put in the work."

He shook his head, and jokingly derided her. "Little primadonna."

He swept her up and threw her down to his bed in a flash and was on top of her even faster; his mouth crushed against hers, tongues meeting and melding.

Finally. Finally. Finally.

He snarled, tugging her lip with a bite as his hands roamed; his left slid under her shirt, drawing it up as he found her breasts. He purred in approval as he massaged them roughly, fingers teasing and tweaking her nipple before switching to the other.

His right hand slipped lower, underneath her leggings in search of her folds; he was delighted in the wetness he found. His hands were so big, warm, and calloused.

"Oh?" He chuckled breathlessly, "You are fuckin' drenched, baby... it must be killin' you, not havin' somethin' hot and hard in that sweet little cunt."

Her heart squeezed at the last word. It seemed the more lust-filled he became, the more present his drawl was.

She whimpered against his lips as his middle and index circled her pearl of nerves and just the right speed. The ache inside coiled tighter and twisted in agonizing want. It burnt.

"N-Negan, please!" Her hands gripped at his t-shirt, his muscles straining and shifting underneath.

"Shh, I know," he cooed, comforting her and tugging her shirt up to her chin to expose her chest; he was quick to seal his mouth around her beaded nipple, suckling and rolling his tongue exactly how she wanted it.

His whispers were so quick, sharp, and surprisingly needy sounding as if he wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be.

Her eyes rolled back in her head when she felt his digits slick down and in, filling her tight walls with one fell slide; watching her face he probed inside her, taking stock of all her reaction. She cried out and fell against him wholly as his palm cupped and mashed against her clit. His stubbly beard scrapped her soft skin.

"Ah…God..."

"Not god." his voice was hot thunder in her ear again.

"Negan!" She mewled as his fingers pumped away, working up warm slick as her pain subsided into ecstasy. She was getting close already, her fluttering walls promised that and his mouth lapping and loving on all the flesh he could reach was a steady aid.

"You're gettin' close, I can feel it. You're squeezing the hell out of my fingers," he smirked into her hot skin.

She was teetering right on the edge. Her stomach flipped as she nearly fell, time and time again.

"Cum for me then I'll fill you so deep, baby, I promise.. just cum."

She didn't need much coaxing past that point. All it took were a few measured circles of his rough thumb to send her careening past the point of no return.

Her climax hit her fiercely, relentlessly as his fingers never let up, stuffing her tight channel as her inner muscles flexed and tensed over and over in orgasm. Her moans were a combination of his name, "sir," and incomprehensible sounds. Long after they subsided into faint, craving whimpers, as her hands came to grasp his thick forearm, begging for mercy.

"Please...it's t-too much..." she mumbled, catching his eyes. He smiled, giving one last thrust of his hand before withdrawing; her fervor only reignited as she watched him lick his fingers clean.

"My dick's 'bout to knock you out cold. I'm gonna fuck you 'til it breaks in you." He chuckled and knelt back on his calves, dragging his t-shirt over his head. Her gaze followed the faded gray-green ink of tattoos that covered his chest,

He stood to lose the layers completely before gripping the waist of her leggings and panties in both hands and yanking them down. It was clear her nerves were returning after she regained some clarity. Her bare legs pressed together, her knees knocking apprehensively.

He hushed her again, wide hands clutching her knees to push her legs wide; her sweet, glistening slit on full display.

"Don't go hidin' from me now, baby." her back arched as his fingers prodded her shallowly.

"You ready for it?"

She nodded slowly.

"What a good girl."

"J-just... be careful, please." She said sheepishly as she grabbed his arm for the second time. He raised a brow to her.

"I know you're...well, "you", but please be...careful with me," she breathed before she felt an impatient push against her slit.

"I know I'm "me", but how about you just let me fuckin' know if you need me to stop," he grinned.

She swallowed and nodded, feeling her heart squeeze. The blunt, velvety skin of the head felt divine against her most sensitive parts. (Y/N) began raising her hips in time with his, growing inpatient despite her reservations.

"Well, looky here. You just need it in you, like your lungs need fuckin' air, right?" He muttered, pressing against her slightly, just enough for her to feel its head beginning to work inside.

His cock popped in and Negan pressed his hips against her ass, sending him deep. She swore she could feel him in her guts.

"Y-you're deep...you're so deep!"

"There you go, there you go. Knew you'd come around; takin' me like a fuckin' champ."

The quiet room filled with the sound of flesh smacking flesh, gasping breaths underneath Negan. His sharp curses and her submissive whines. Her hands twisted up in his linens, digging in as her as she conformed to his hefty girth.

"N-Negan... I'm really close..." she panted, twisting her head to meet his glazed eyes with hers. Indeed, she was growing tighter and tighter with every thrust.

"Hoho, I can feel you, sweetheart," he leaned down, a forearm supporting his weight by her head as his hips pumped away, growing a little disjointed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. You're hot as sin inside. Been a while since I've felt this good."

Maybe it was her sex-addled brain, but she was growing more confident or perhaps it was just growing harder to contain herself. She purred, arching against the warm skin of his front.

"Negan! I'm going to..."

He didn't need telling twice. His hand slipped between her and the blankets, urgent fingers massaging pearl and setting her climax in motion. She cried out his name, mid-orgasm. Her walls tensed and released around him.

His hips stuttered and faltered. He growled and slammed balls-deep, locking the pair together with the possessive grasp of his hands. He lost control, coating her insides, somehow making her feel even fuller than before. She shivered as his hips jerked and jolted until he was fully spent.

Pure, ear-ringing bliss.

The heat was fast subsiding, and with it, the slow realization of her surroundings was setting in; his length was still deep within her, and she could feel the warmth spreading. His breathed deeply as he pressed kisses to her neck.

Shyly she craned her neck to meet his warm eyes.

He chuckled, and let both arms hug round her waist, successfully rolling both of their bodies to the side. His warm, slick back against hers, rising and falling slowly was calming to her frayed nerves. She sighed in relief.

(Y/N) 's drooped as she felt the peacefulness of sleep settle over her like a soothing summer haze. Then, the thunder of his voice booming in his chest caused her to snap out of her dreaminess.

_"A single look from him will shake and pierce me, will weaken me, and make me tremble and soften and melt. Sex was like violent explosions of poetry. He was my road to sainthood as well as debauchery. Simply put, he ruined me for any other man.'"_

He tossed the (Y/N)'s notebook to the side.

"Picture perfect, huh?"

Perhaps there _could_ be life among the dead.


End file.
